


if only (the two saddest words in the world)

by icygrace



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:08:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrace/pseuds/icygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I brought you all, my ladies – my friends – to France to make you miserable! Greer banished. To get you killed! Aylee dead. And now Kenna . . .”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. where has she gone

**Author's Note:**

> Post-finale future fic. I'm running down my stored-up fic, but "and on your head a crown" isn't ready and I really wanted to get something up before Laurie completely destroys my will to fic. Title from a quote by Mercedes Lackey.

“Are you . . . looking for someone?” Mary asks hesitantly.

 

She startles him; he is lingering at the edges of the party, only there because Francis insisted upon it. “No. Yes,” he admits, annoyed to have been caught. “Where is Kenna?” His annoyance shows itself in the words that follow. “This is exactly the sort of over-the-top occasion –”

 

“She’s gone,” Mary interrupts, suddenly short. “Didn’t you know?”

 

“Would I have asked if I did?”

 

Mary nods at him. He can practically hear her _touché._

 

“When is she returning?”

 

“No time soon; perhaps never. I’ve made provision for her return, expecting that, with your marriage annulled, in time, I can help her find a new husband. But I’m not sure what she will choose to do.”

_Never?_ “Where has she gone?”

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“She remains my wife.”

 

Mary’s eyebrows rise. “Not for long.”

 

He repeats the question. “Where has she gone?”

 

“I need some air,” Mary replies, as though it is a perfectly logical answer to his question. “Some space. Perhaps in my rooms.”

 

As soon as they are behind closed doors, Mary begins. “She has gone away, to have her baby. I found a family that would take it –”

 

“So she’s going to give her child away?” he scoffs in disbelief. “After all that talk of wanting children –”

 

Mary interrupts him and it angers him to hear anger in _her_ voice. “What other option does she have? She turned to Renaude when you decided – you alone decided – that you would live separate lives and annul your marriage when she found someone else to marry.”

 

“You, of all people, criticize me for deciding we would live separate lives? Kenna meant to leave me for another man; Francis’s actions may have indirectly contributed to your assault, but he did nothing purposeful to harm your marriage!”

 

Mary doesn’t respond to his accusation. “She became pregnant and Renaude was hung as a traitor after you overpowered him and he was imprisoned, which you were only able to do because Kenna alerted you to the man who would otherwise have killed you. I heard her; I was there, after all.”

 

_Bash, behind you!_

 

“And now you are annulling your marriage. You have a right to your anger at her attempt to deceive you, but you have no right to criticize her for making the only choice available to her.” Mary shakes her head.

 

\---

 

He realizes that Lola, too, is displeased with him. “Have it out,” he says one day at the conclusion of another uncomfortable “family” dinner that consists of Francis’s pitying stares, Mary’s cool gaze, and Claude’s looks he can’t quite puzzle out.

 

“Fine,” Lola acquiesces. “You’re always sulking, acting as if you’ve been wronged –”

 

“ _Acting_ as if I’ve been wronged? Where do I start? She –” There is no way in the world this isn’t about Kenna – “intended to leave me for the King of Navarre –”

 

“You turned on her when she was honest about the fact that she _considered_ turning to another man. And then youdecided that you would live separate lives, that you would annul your marriage, that she must find a man who made her feel safe and secure. She made her decision somewhat hastily, despite my warnings, after finding that you’d already moved on, but he seemed like a good man with good prospects –”

 

“She’d already moved on before I brought Delphine to court!”

 

“But she learned what Delphine was to you long before you brought her to court. And then the man who made her feel safe was given a choice between his son’s life and loyalty to his king. He chose his son’s life and was hanged as a traitor.”

 

 _To save you from ruin. To save_ you _from having a traitor’s child, a man who was hanged for trying to kill our king!_

 

“She tried to deceive me, to make me think the child was mine.”

 

_So that’s why you got me into bed? So suddenly, so remorseful. You wanted me to believe the child was mine. Surely, I would take you back!_

 

“If she had just been honest –” he stops, bitter again.

_If you had come to me honestly, I might have considered it, but you lied to me and tried to trick me._

 

Lola shakes her head. “You have no idea what it’s like, being a woman, your life subject always to the whims of men.”

 

_Bash, you have no idea what it's like to be a girl in this world. Owning nothing, having no power except the effect that you have on men._

 

“And certainly no idea what it is to know you’re bringing a child into the world to face an uncertain future. I was fortunate; I found a man who was willing to take me, stranger’s baby and all, and even more than that when the truth came out and Francis showed himself to be a loving father. Henry may not have given you his name or lands and a title and Catherine may have hated you, but if you have to be a bastard, it’s much better to be a king’s than a traitor’s.”

 

_Because I saw no other way! Please, claim this child. You know what it’s like to be born a bastard, the shame and scorn, it’s –_

Lola’s tone gentles. “I know you must have been hurt by her actions, but she was scared and so unsure of you by then. Even so, it was so obvious to me that she still l –”

 

“Don’t try to defend her,” he snaps, turning his back on Lola and walking away.

 

\---

 

Despite everything that’s passed, all the trouble his time in the woods caused him in the form of Delphine months ago, it’s the woods he retreats to, long after he’s free of that trouble, for comfort when court becomes too stifling for him. He has nowhere else to go.

 

After one such expedition, he returns to the castle late at night and notices a familiar man urging a robed figure into one of the secret entrances. A tryst, perhaps? Or something more ominous? It’s true that Leith saved Francis’s life and has protected Claude faithfully, but you never know who can truly be trusted.

 

“Halt! Who goes there?”

 

The robed figure jumps.

 

“A healer, for the q –” Leith begins

 

But Bash is too quick for him and snatches the mystery person’s hood away.

 

It’s Greer.

 

“A healer?” he repeats skeptically. “What is she actually doing here?”

 

“The queen sent for her.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Mary wanted me with her and with Lola right now.”

 

“Why now?”

 

Greer looks away.

 

He doesn’t know why this is so important to him. He tells himself it’s extremely suspicious that the wife of a known traitor is returning to the castle in the middle of the night, for all that he knows that Castleroy was hoodwinked, Greer had no involvement in his inadvertent treason, and Mary trusted Greer to assist with scattering Condé’s forces. “You will tell me or I will sound the alarm at once. Have you any idea what happens to traitors found sneaking into the castle?”

 

“Queen Mary received news that upset her a great deal,” Leith answers immediately.

 

“What news?”

 

Greer’s eyes widen, then fill, but she remains silent.

 

“Let’s – let’s go inside,” Leith suggests gently.

 

\---

 

He can hear Mary halfway down the corridor. “I brought you all, my ladies – my _friends_ – to France to make you miserable! Greer banished. To get you killed! Aylee dead. And now, Kenna . . .”

 

 

He’s not heard a word of her for months; after Mary and Lola’s chastisements, they’d been entirely silent on the topic of their friend, but now, despite everything, the anguish in Mary’s voice makes his chest tighten with fear. He shoulders his way through the door. “Now Kenna _what_?”

 

Mary turns at the sound, but only points to her vanity table, on which lies a crumpled letter. It’s wet in spots, as if she’s wept over it, and the writing is sloppy, as if her correspondent had been in a hurry.

 

His blood turns to ice.

 

_To Her Majesty, Queen Mary of Scotland and France,_

_I write to you on behalf of our mutual friend._

_Her baby is healthy, but the birth was very difficult, and the physician has told us to send for a priest. I promised that I would write to you, and quickly, as she fades by the hour, so she might see the letter sent before . . ._

 

He shakes his head. _No._ For months, he’s felt hurt and betrayed, used and humiliated, at her deception. He’s been angry with her still. But he certainly never wished her _dead_.

 

No, it’s more than that. Despite himself, deep down, he hasn’t stopped loving her. He doesn’t know that he ever will stop.

 

And now it’s too late.

 

_Your heart . . . broken, and then healed . . . but it will shatter because . . ._

_Go on._

_You will lose someone very close to you._

_No!_ He doesn’t realize he’s fallen to his knees until his palms hit the stone floor.

And then there’s Mary on the floor with him, raining blows on his shoulders, reproaching him through her sobs.

 

He lets her.

 

“If she were here – if she were with me – she’d be fine. I know it. Nostradamus is here, he could have helped, and _she’d be fine._ But I had to send her away, to save her – thanks to you – I hate you – I hate you – _I hate you!_ ”

 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Greer and Lola, holding one another huddled together on the bed, tears running down their cheeks, who at first can do little more than watch Mary with twin looks of sorrow on their faces until Greer makes to get up, but then Francis, who some days is so weak he can barely stand, appears in the doorway and calls her name. “Mary.” Francis runs to her, sinks to his knees beside her, catches her flailing fists, and holds her close as she sobs her pain.

They are losing Francis, too, and they know it – all of them, they know it. But with Francis, there is no one to blame.

 

With Kenna, Mary blames _him_.

 

He cannot say he blames her for that.

\---

 

“Francis?” He hates to burden Francis, with all that Francis already has on his shoulders, with how much thinner and paler he grows each day, but there is no one else who can help him.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I need a favor –”

 

“Anything,” Francis says immediately. The way Francis is looking at him . . . Francis _knows_. Francis saw him last night, after all, saw him all but run out of Mary’s rooms, was turned away from his chambers when he came to see him. And his next words confirm it. “I – I’m so sorry, Bash. I know you were estranged, but –”

 

He interrupts, unable to bear his brother’s pity. “Could you speak to Mary for me? I – it’s important.” He’d been unable to sleep until he’d made this decision and without Mary he cannot carry it out.

 

\---

 

“Are you sure? You can’t change your mind once you do this.”

 

“I am.”

 

“If only you’d felt so giving months ago.”

 

His eyes burn with tears he has no right to shed. _If only._

 

“Mary,” Francis says sharply. “That’s hardly ne –”

 

“She’s right, Francis.” He looks her directly in the eyes, ignoring his brother’s fierce, protective look beside her. “I know I can’t change the past, but this I can do.”

 

Mary sighs, and the sound is full of pain. “Come with me.”


	2. where he has gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am here on behalf of the Queen of France,” Bash tells the servant who opens the door.

“I am here on behalf of the Queen of France,” Bash tells the servant who opens the door.

 

“And who, may I ask, are you?”

 

He’s forgotten what it is not to be _my lord-ed_ now that he is always recognized; but he is not in France anymore and he is disheveled and travel-worn and he should not be so surprised. “The king’s deputy.”

 

“The king of –”

“France.” He resists the urge to roll his eyes. “King Francis.”

 

“And whom do you wish to see, my lord?”

 

“The mistress of the house. She has been corresponding with Queen Mary, but the queen’s reply required personal delivery this time.”

 

\---

 

“Are you here for me, my lord, or for our mutual friend?”

 

 _Our mutual friend._ The letters between this woman and Mary, the letters Mary kept in a small chest and took out to show him, never referred to Kenna by name; she was always _our mutual friend_.

He’s half-blinded by tears at the thought of returning to France with her body.

 

“My lord? Are you well?”

 

“I –” He begins to pull out Mary’s letter, because he can’t speak any longer.

 

“She is . . . indisposed, but you might return to see her tomorrow, if it is her you are seeking.”

 

His heart begins to thud in his chest. _Could_ – “Indisposed? Are you certain we are speaking of the same mutual friend?” He clears his throat. “The Lady Kenna? Queen Mary was given to understand –”

 

“Yes. Queen Mary thought she would benefit from spending a holiday with us, for her health.” The woman tells the lie smoothly.

 

His heart beats ever faster. “I know you’ve said she’s indisposed, but could you check if she might see me now?” Otherwise, he’ll spend the night fearing that this is all a dream.

 

“She’s resting, quite fast asleep last I saw.”

 

“May I . . . look in on her?”

 

“May I see the letter from Queen Mary first?”

 

He hands it over at once.

 

She looks at him over the paper in surprise after reading a bit. He hadn’t opened the letter, so he has no idea what Mary might have said. “You believed her dead.”

 

“Your letter led Queen Mary to believe that –” He cannot help the way his voice shakes. “Her death was only a matter of hours. We assumed the worst.”

 

“I sent another letter once Lady Kenna took a turn for the better, but it must have crossed you in your travels. I’m sorry for the pain that misunderstanding must have caused the queen.”

 

 _Caused me_ , he thinks selfishly. _Caused_ me. 

 

“And you,” she continues as if reading his mind. “It’s obvious you care a great deal for her. Are you close?”

 

“I –”

 

His hostess looks back down at Mary’s letter. “You are her . . . husband? Her husband?” she repeats in disbelief as her eyes scan the page.

 

He nods.

 

She takes a moment to compose herself and continues reading. When she is done, she peers up at him again. “Believing her dead, you planned to bring the child back to France. But now that you know she lives, what will you do?”

 

He hasn’t the slightest idea, but the relief that floods through his body at the knowledge that they were wrong is the only thing he can focus on. “May I see the baby?” he asks instead.

 

\---

 

Throughout his journey, he wonders how he will feel when he looks upon the child his wife bore another man, a child that he – he, who has never wanted children – insisted in a moment of madness and grief he would bring back to France and raise as his own. A child that killed her.

 

\---

 

_I want to bring the child back._

_Kenna’s baby?  I – why?_

_Wouldn’t you rather it be with people who knew her than with strangers?_

_But – it would have a family there – here who would –_

_I would claim it as my own. We are – we_ were _still married. Legally, it’s my child._

_Are you sure? You can’t change your mind once you do this._

_I am._

 

_If only you’d felt so giving months ago._

 

_Mary. That’s hardly ne –_

 

_She’s right, Francis. I know I can’t change the past, but this I can do._

_Come with me._

 

\---

 

“Come with me, m’lord,” the parlor maid beckons, leading him up to a large, sunny room where a cradle holds pride of place.

 

The baby is small, as all babies are, but still larger and sturdier than he expects. He remembers how fragile Jean Philippe looked when he was first brought to court, but this baby seems quite robust in comparison. Perhaps it was his size that made the birth so difficult; Kenna has always been slender and however much he admires her figure, he cannot deny that she lacks so-called “birthing hips.”

 

The baby is dark-haired like Kenna and Bash would swear his nose is the same, but because he is peacefully asleep, it’s impossible to tell if he shares her brown eyes as well.

 

“I would ask if you wanted to hold him, my lord, but he’s sleeping,” the nursery maid apologizes from her seat beside the cradle.

 

“It’s all right. Let him sleep. I imagine being born was quite a trial.”

 

_Though not as much as giving you birth._

 

\---

 

He is allowed to await Kenna’s awakening, offered biscuits and tea and then luncheon. He’s barely put his napkin down – he could hardly eat from nerves, but lingered over his meal, attempting to choke at least some of it down so as not to be rude and to distract himself from the endless wait – when the maid from earlier comes to fetch him. “She’s awake.”

 

Kenna wears a white nightgown, hair braided and hanging over her right shoulder. She is pale – her skin nearly matches the nightgown – and there are dark shadows under her eyes. She looks so very tired, worryingly so, but she is here, and he means to reach for her, to assure himself that she’s real and warm and very much _alive_ until he recalls how they parted.

 

_Stop using this child only to save yourself. We are finished!_

 

“Bash.” There is more surprise in the way she says his name than some people manage to express in full sentences. “When they said I had a visitor from Mary –”

 

Kenna hadn’t been told it was he who was waiting for her. Perhaps his hostess feared she would refuse to see him.

 

“I thought perhaps Lola . . . You’re the last person I would have expected,” she finishes.

 

“Yes, of course, after you lied to me and tried to trick me.” That was absolutely not how he meant to start this conversation.

 

She looks as if he’s struck her.

 

“I’m –”

 

She shakes her head. _Don’t_.

He forces himself to remain silent and let her have her say.

Kenna’s words are measured and even when she finally speaks again. “Yes, it’s true that I tried to trick you and I’m sorry for that. But I didn’t lie, except for when precisely I turned to Renaude and how long I’d known I was pregnant. I did first turn to him because I thought you moved on, because I was desperate and he was kind. I did still love you.”

 

Did _still love you_. The words reverberate unpleasantly in his skull.

 

“Do you remember when we first spoke of your friend? And then when Francis was ill, when Mary sent me to look for you to say your goodbyes, my carriage driver suffered some sort of attack, so I tried to steal a horse from Renaude’s camp to make my way back to court and I met him. He seemed taken with me, but he learned I was married and backed away until after the attack on the abbey, when you refused his invitation to Greer’s brothel to go see Delphine. He said he realized then that I didn’t belong to anyone.”

 

His heart clenches at the way her voice cracks just a bit.

 

“Do you have any idea how it felt to hear that? You’d said we would lead separate lives until I found a man who made me feel safe and our marriage could be annulled, but still I hoped. After that, I lost hope and turned to another, who turned traitor. And yes, I wanted to save myself – I couldn’t save my child if I didn’t save myself, not truly, unless I gave him away and the thought of doing that broke my heart. I panicked.”

 

He knew Kenna had wanted children, had wanted to be a mother. It was only his reluctance that had held her back from actively wishing for it. “You told me I was the only man who’d ever put your needs above his own, but you still couldn’t trust that I would help you if you told me the truth?”

 

“Not when you had Delphine. Not when –” Kenna shakes her head. “There’s no point.”

 

_I . . . I thought we might talk._

_Must we?_

_You had plenty to say the other night. What's changed?_

_I just don't really see the point._

_If things have got that bad, how can there not be a point in talking?_

 

“I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I tried to trick you and take advantage of your feelings, but I only did it because I was so scared.”

 

“What do you plan to do now?” He asks because he needs to know if her apology is sincere. He hates that he is retreating into his mistrust and insecurity now that she lives and breathes before him, but he cannot help it.

 

“Mary sent me here planning to have this family keep my child, so that I could salvage my reputation and return to court, but I can’t bear the idea of giving him up. I’m going to keep him with me by saying he’s my sister’s baby –”

 

“You don’t have a sister.”

 

“Exactly. I’ll go somewhere where I’m not known and I can get away with the lie.”

 

 _Somewhere where I’m not known_. Far from court, far from _him_. He cannot allow it. “With no money?” He is still testing her, and he hates himself for it.

 

She looks down at the bedspread for a moment before looking back up. “I hoped you would return my dowry to me. Otherwise . . . I admit, I haven’t thought that far ahead. I just know I can’t give him away.”

 

“Or you could return to court once you are recovered.”

 

Hope flares in her eyes, but it disappears at quickly as it came. “How could I possibly come back? With my marriage annulled and a baby in my arms? Calling him my nephew is a lie I couldn’t maintain there. I would be ruined and he would be known for what he truly is and what sort of life would he have then?”

 

 _He._ Not _we_. He cannot help but think of his mother then and wonder, if she’d found herself in Kenna’s circumstances rather than her own, whether he would have been her priority as this baby is now Kenna’s. But there’s no point.

 

“Our marriage hasn’t been annulled.” He hadn’t been able to go through with it.

 

Her eyes widen and her lips part in disbelief.

 

Then, he sketches out a new plan. “We’ll remain married and you won’t have to pretend you are his aunt. You were simply unable to return to France in time for the birth.”

 

“Why are you offering me your help now?” she asks suspiciously.

 

A lump rises in his throat at the memory. “Mary received a letter that said your death was a matter of hours. And it takes more than hours to get a letter from Sweden to France.” He shivers.

 

“There was a second –”

 

“It must have arrived after I departed. But it matters not. When I thought you dead, I realized I would give anything to see you again, to offer you my forgiveness freely, and . . . and to ask your forgiveness for my earlier mistakes.”

 

\---

 

_Claude is “nothing.” Your wound is “nothing.” If they were nothing, you would talk to me. I've shared so many things with you . . . how trapped I felt with your father, how scared, how ashamed . . ._

_You want honesty? Very well. I got this cut while framing an innocent man who's probably going to die. And I did this for what they call “the greater good.” I kill when it's expedient. I lie when it's expedient. That's who I am._

 

\---

 

_You're my wife. You should tell me the truth without being asked. Did you tell Catherine that my mother was talking to Rome about getting me legitimized? I could have been executed, Kenna!_

 

\---

 

_I . . . I can't do this right now, Kenna. There's been a disturbance in a nearby village. They say a man clawed his way out of the grave and is terrorizing people._

 

\---

 

_I'm sorry. I know I said I'd try to be back for the feast._

_Did you even try? Or were you happier being away from me right now?_

 

\---

 

_Oh, Bash, you're here! How wonderful!_

 

_I'm sorry I can't stay. I have some business with the king’s guard . . . Someone needs replacing._

 

\---

 

_Here we are again. You have to run off and save the world. How many more battles for you and lonely nights for me until it's all done?_

 

\---

_Bash, please, just talk to me. Antoine is a liar. He tricked me._

_But it was you who put yourself in a position to be tricked._

_I planned a party. I am not excusing Antoine's deception. I'm wondering why it is so hard for you to trust me._

_Look at yourself . . . he's all over you. The gown, those jewels. You may not have strayed explicitly, but clearly you want more than you have._

_I do . . . I want a good life, and a husband to share it with. And I'm sick of being judged for it just because you want less. Less comfort. Less responsibility. Less of me._  


\---

 

_Please stop! Just stop! I'm so tired of all the lies. Of making you believe I'm someone I'm not. He asked me to marry him, Bash. He said he'd make me a queen. He was lying, of course. But I was ready to say yes. I wanted it. I wanted a different life. I wanted things you could never give me. And never can._

 

\---

 

The night he learns of Kenna’s death, he lies awake and, in a flash of wisdom and shame for believing the worst of his wife, he understands that she wanted not a king and the trappings of royalty – yes, perhaps a higher station, but more importantly the other possibilities the other men who made overtures to her likely offered, things that couldn’t be resolved with a grant from his brother the king . . .

 

His regret threatens to choke him.

 

\---

 

“Believing it was too late to fix things . . . it was the most terrible feeling I’ve ever experienced.”

 

“I’m sorry.” But she looks heartened at that until a cloud passes over her face. “You have lands, a title. Could you really live with another man’s child inheriting it all?”

 

“Yes. Yes, I could. When I – when I thought you had died, the reason I came . . . I came here intending to bring your child back to France as my own.”

 

Kenna’s eyes widen again. “Why would you do that?”

 

“Because he’s innocent.” He shakes his head. “That’s true, but really . . . because he’s yours. Because I should have seen that you did what you did because you were afraid. It’s obvious how much you love him.” He pauses. “I only have one condition.”

 

Her eyes turn wary. “What is it?”

 

“If you agree to this, if you both return to France with me, we will never again refer to him as anyone’s child but ours.”

 

Kenna tilts her head thoughtfully. “Before I give you an answer, I have to tell you something that may make you retract your question.”

 

More honesty. He nods.

 

“Even if someday we were no longer married in name only . . .”

 

 _Even if?_ But she has a right to her misgivings and now he has time to prove them wrong.

 

What a gift, time.

 

“Well, the physician and the midwife said I would likely never have another child, not after this,” she warns after a long silence. “Could you live with that, too? Knowing your only child isn’t your blood?”

 

It’s selfish, because he knows she wanted child _ren_ , but it is a relief to hear that she can never be so endangered again. “I will,” he says firmly.

 

She clearly catches his meaning. “Then I accept.”


End file.
